The Wild Kingdom … in my yard

Quiet now. Keep your head down low. Don’t take your eyes off him. If he looks your way, keep still.

I know it may sound like I’m currently on a walk-about in some arid Australia outback, but I’m not. I’m not on some African safari either.

But make no mistake about it — I am stalking a wild animal. It’s a vile creature intent on tormenting me with its disgusting, evasive behavior.

I know what you’re thinking … if I’m not on a hunting expedition or lost in the woods, what else could I be dealing with? A mountain lion? A bear? Some other kind of varmint?

It’s a bird that keeps pooping on my new car. I call him the “turd raptor,” or “craptor” for short. Now, before you stop reading, let me explain.

I am a reasonable person. When I first noticed that my shiny black car was continually being used as a porta-potty, I reacted calmly. After all, I park the car in the driveway of my home, and I park it next to a tree. I am practically asking for it.

It’s been going on for weeks. Every morning, as I open up the garage door and walk out to the driveway, I see the latest “experimental art,” using my car as a canvas.

The damage always occurs on the driver’s side door. Nowhere else.

As a mature, logical human being, I rationally analyze the situation. Obviously, since the damage was always in the same area, and that part of the car was closest to the tree, the offending culprit must have a nest in that area. Knowing that I couldn’t fault a mindless bird for doing what it naturally does, I decide that I can easily eliminate the problem by moving my car to the other side of the driveway, out from under the tree.

Problem solved. Man tames nature. Evolution on display.

Except for the fact that the bird diddled on my car the following morning, and again on the driver’s side door. As if to put on a little emphasis, it added a dollop on the door handle.

The craptor was making this personal.

A few days ago, in an act of desperation, I moved my car from the driveway to the street, in a spot that happens to be in front of my house, fully visible from my second-floor den. Later that afternoon, as I casually glanced from my desk out the window, I finally caught the dirty little flying graffiti artist red-handed.

I saw an adorable little bird, happily sitting on the luggage rack of my car, pooping on my driver’s side window.

Now, every morning when I go out to my car, I bring my briefcase, my keys, a paper towel and a bottle of Windex. The fact that the sputterages were always on my driver’s side door wherever the car was parked made it obvious that this bird was throwing down the gauntlet. Never one to shrink from a challenge, I started making plans.

I decide to quietly make my way outside to the front yard. Upon seeing the bird sitting on my car, I press the alarm button on my car remote to set the alarm off. The startled bird takes flight.

Except, and I am not making this up, the next morning I go out to our other car and see that someone (or more correctly, something) has left its signature mark on that car again, and I’ll give you three guesses where they left it.

Standing next to the car, feeling dejected and gazing at my tormentor’s latest work of art, I realize that I may be beat. I quickly realize that my options are limited. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever be able to catch the bird, and more importantly, I could never bring myself to harm it in any way.

So what options do I have left? I could only think of one.

If you ever pass by my house and you see a black SUV with a stuffed toy cat sitting on top of the car, stay quiet and keep your head down low.